


The Beautiful Ones

by Kuroshit_10



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Backstory, Love/Hate, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29145708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuroshit_10/pseuds/Kuroshit_10
Summary: He was made of fog and snow, his heart a block of ice inside his shattered rib cage. He was perfect and prided himself on being so, but he had made a mistake. Perfect people did not make mistakes, and so something was wrong. There were two certainties in William’s life: his job and his perfection, and now both were missing and there was nothing left.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/William T. Spears
Comments: 13
Kudos: 14





	1. Before and After

**Author's Note:**

> I use male pronouns for Grell in this work. This is not a political choice but an artistic one. Because the story is set in the 19th century and because it's told (more or less) from William's point of view, I thought it would be more accurate that way. It is not my intention to upset anyone.

The halls were silent. The rooms lining the hallway were quiet as well. Despite being filled with people, the entire building was unnaturally still. Blue light pierced the windows and shined on the cold, marble floors, reflecting a soft glow onto the vacant walls. Six stories into the sky, time was thick like molasses and stagnant like muddy waters. The sharp _tick, tick, tick,_ of analog clocks stretched on forever.

William was in his office but not at his desk. He stood, sharply erect, in front of a large window. He looked out at the city below. Miles beneath his feet, coaches whirled and people bustled like ants struggling to rebuild a hive as it crumbled around them. No matter how he struggled, this tiny world would not change. If he died, it would continue without him.

On William’s desk, which he ignored, was a note. Angry red scrawl cut the paper and bled a message:

_Mr. Spears,_

_It is my misfortune to inform you that, on the suspicion of homosexuality, you are released from your position. We do not wish to be associated with such degenerate and unlawful behavior. Please remove yourself from the office before next Monday._

_Regretfully,_

_J Luther Simons_

William’s blue eyes were uncharacteristically distant. He was made of fog and snow, his heart a block of ice inside his shattered rib cage. He was perfect and prided himself on being so, but he had made a mistake. Perfect people did not make mistakes, and so something was wrong. There were two certainties in William’s life: his job and his perfection, and now both were missing and there was nothing left.

He was used to being alone and was content with being so, but Simon had broken him. Simon Turner was the pinnacle of perfection, surpassing William himself. Ethereal and scintillating; beautiful beyond belief, perfect beyond doubt. Simon was not whiny or lazy in the way that all people were. He worked hard to get what he wanted, smiling all the while. His pearly smile was dangerous. Everything about Simon was dangerous – soft, golden hair, a jawline that could cut stone, and chocolate brown eyes. He was statuesque and cold as marble, and William had admired him for it. Well, perhaps it had been more than admiration.

Opium. Dried latex derived from seed capsules of the opium poppy Papaver somniferum. Partially made of analgesic alkaloid morphine, processed chemically to produce heroin. It distanced him from it all. He was high up in the sky in more than a mechanistic sense, far away from London and people and the tribulations of life. Far from his job and from Simon, wherever he was. Far enough and objective enough to know what he had to do.

The eerie tranquility in the halls was broken by the erratic slap of his uneven footfalls. His shoulders swayed dangerously like a canoe on stormy waters, threatening to tip and send him plunging into the icy sea. The tick of the clocks filled his ears as he raced for the stairs, struggling up endless steps until he reached the top. The cold, metal door to the outside world loomed over him and he threw it open, tumbling past it.

Pink sunlight warmed his face as he emerged onto the silent rooftop. A gust of summer wind ruffled his hair. A sparrow flew, chirping as it searched for a forest. The soft clouds were pastel pink and glowing with orange from the setting sun. The world seemed to sigh, and through the delirium, so did he.

The corners of his eyes burned. His last thought was of Simon before he let his body fall off the ledge.

.

“Mr. Spears, do you know why I’ve summoned you here?”

“No, sir.”

“If you spoke more with the elder Shinigami you might know already, but I suppose you’re a quiet one. We have enough quiet ones down here, don’t you think? It’s almost a prerequisite to committing suicide, I suppose.”

“That’s an interesting observation, sir.”

Laurent Goodman of the records department sighed, his fingers expanding over his tired eyes.

“Personal record analysis, that’s why you’re here. It’s paramount that all Shinigami analyze their records. Don’t ask me why, it’s tradition. You don’t have a choice. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. You’re going to sit there, and I’m going to tell you where you went wrong with your life. Stay quiet, be polite, and you’ll be out of here within ten minutes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Good.”

Mr. Goodman shuffled the papers in his hands. It was two in the afternoon, so the tidy black lines blurred together. He adjusted his wire-rim glasses, well aware that there was no issue with his vision. Any confusion was a result of his brain rebelling against the monotony. If only he could kill himself a second time.

William’s life was dull like any other. He’d been born into a family on the verge of poverty, transforming him into a workaholic prick before he reached twelve years of age. He’d studied hard enough to win a position at the London bank, and for two years he’d fought up the corporate latter, becoming the youngest Chief Information Officer in the company’s history. One year into his new role, he’d pursued a relationship with a young man named Simon Turner, leading to his subsequent downfall and suicide. At first it appeared to be the dullest, most average record Mr. Goodman had laid eyes on. Then the fine print caught his eye.

“Wait,” Mr. Goodman said, adjusting his glasses and squinting at the record. William, who had been ready to leave, sat back down.

“What is it?”

“Oh, this is interesting,” Mr. Goodman purred, the fog drifting from his eyes, “that Simon fellow you were involved with- it seems he wasn’t human at all.”

William’s eyes widened, “excuse me?”

“You heard me. I don’t suppose you’ve learned about demons yet, have you?”

“I’ve heard- I’ve heard of them before, but I thought that was rubbish. So you’re saying that-“

Laurent Goodman’s lips curled into a lazy smile. He took a sip of his coffee, “Simon Turner was a demon. And that’s not all, he was contracted to boot. Those buggers form agreements with humans in exchange for their soul- you’ll learn about it later. It seems this one – Simon – had a little deal with one of your coworkers. Their soul in exchange for your position.”

Time slowed before reality shattered, the pieces flying in all directions, piercing William’s skin and embedding themselves in his chest. For a moment all he could do was sit and bleed. Then time reversed itself and the shards returned to their proper places in the tapestry of tragedy known as his life, and he felt nothing again.

Adjusting his glasses flippantly, he said, “So his relationship with me was an intentional ploy to rid me of my position.”

“Yes,” Mr. Goodman said, “and I think you’re taking it rather well. You don’t display much emotion, do you Spears?”

William stood, “If that’s all, I think I’ll be going.”

“Wait, you need-“

He was halfway down the hall before Mr. Goodman finished. 

.

The clunk and scratch of chalk on the black board punctuated the chattering of restless students. _Unit 4: The Supernatural part 2,_ the professor wrote before dropping the chalk to the floor and crushing it beneath her heeled shoe. On her desk was a shining bronze bell, and she picked it up and shook it vigorously, the shrill notes ringing over the lecture hall and hushing all voices. All voices, that is, except one.

To the right of William, Grell Sutcliffe did not stop talking. If it were up to him, he would put as much distance between himself and Sutcliffe as humanly (or inhumanly) possible, but seats were assigned, no exceptions (he had asked.) The redhead was quite possibly the most irritating Shinigami in the realm, with his flamboyant attitude and incessant squabbling—not to mention constant fawning over anything with a pulse. Or without a pulse. Sutcliffe wasn’t known to discriminate.

“Will you shut up?” William hissed as Sutcliffe continued to speak. If William was honest, as he tried not to be, he wasn’t concerned with any lesson about reaping. He would rather die than become a grim reaper, but unfortunately that wasn’t an option. If anything was going to make his tumultuous existence more bearable, it was a monstrous workload and a thousand pages of boring notes. He wasn’t about to let someone stand in the way of his mundane fate.

“What’s it to you?” Sutcliffe hissed back, spinning around to glare at William. Those unnerving yellow-green eyes bit into his skin, “don’t tell me you actually care about this?” Grell eyed the notebook open on William’s desk and barked out a laugh, “You do, don’t you? How trite. Well, I’ve got news for you,” he squinted at the patch sewn on William’s chest, “Will. Nobody. Cares. And neither should you. Now do us all a favor and be quiet.” 

The words were spat with a snapping of shark’s teeth and a flipping of unnaturally vibrant hair. William blinked.

“You two!” The blonde professor bellowed from below, her perfect ringlets quivering, “Shut it!” she waved her scythe menacingly in their direction, thrusting it into the candlelight so it gleamed.

“Yes ma’am,” William responded as Sutcliffe huffed and fell back into his seat. Ignoring the rising fire in his veins, he dipped his quill and poised it above his parchment, allowing the excess ink to form angry droplets on the paper.

“This is one of the most important lectures you all will have the pleasure of receiving,” she went on, “In my opinion, it’s one of the most interesting topics as well. Today we will be learning about Demons.”

William froze as the Shinigami buzzed around him, whispering eagerly in each other’s ears.

“Many of you – especially those of you with religious upbringings – begin with misconceptions about demon kind. I’ll start there. Firstly, demons aren’t small, ugly, red men with horns. They are, in fact, quite beautiful.”

Simon had been beautiful. The most beautiful being William had ever laid eyes on. He had first seen Simon when he ran into him in the hallway adjacent to his office. He had dropped his papers and bent down to retrieve them. When he looked up, his annoyance had disintegrated, and the world had been blown away as if by a strong wind. Simon’s eyes had been glimmering gems, bright and alive and full of promise. Perhaps William had first loved him then.

“Demons typically appear in human form and are often indistinguishable from ordinary humans. To identify them you must search for clues: unusual physical ability, unusual attractiveness, a sharp wit, and strong charisma are all indicators. In a word: perfection.” 

Perfection. It hurt to ruminate over his past – hurt like dying – but he couldn’t resist. Every trait he had loved about Simon Turner was now being scratched out on the vomit-green chalkboard under the heading: _Common Demonic Traits._ Quills screamed across papers as Shinigami recorded the details of the only man he’d ever loved, committing them to memory so they would know who to kill.

“Humans find themselves easily led astray by these monsters, but you must know better. Demons are the vilest of creatures and the worst threat to mankind. They steal some human souls and drive others to suicide. They are evil beings only capable of malintent.”

As if forced by a phantom marionette thread, William sprung from his seat and left the lecture hall without a backwards glance, the oaken door thudding shut behind him. But even that heavy wood couldn’t save him from the monsters rising in the shadows. The expanse of hallway ahead seemed to stretch on for miles. He ran down it, ignoring the eyes that turned to stare. His fervor echoed off the walls, and suddenly he was back in his office building. He was climbing the stairs, thoughts of his false lover lurking beneath the surface of his mind’s waters. Simon’s dastardly smile. The way he smelled perpetually of grass and pine. The twinkle in his deep brown eyes. The way he spoke, and the way he commanded every room he entered.

But now there was something else. William remembered the time Simon confessed his love like it had been yesterday. They had been eating eggs and toast together on the way to work, dodging carriages that flew by and discussing a recent investment. There had been a pause in conversation filled only by the clopping of hooves and the shouting of merchants, and then he had done it. His face next to William’s, his breath warming his ear, Simon had whispered: 

“You know that I love you, right William?”

And William’s face had colored. He’d flinched away as if electrocuted, but his lips had stubbornly curled.

“Not here,” he had hissed, “later.”

And William had thought it charming, the confidence with which his companion had confessed. He had not floundered or reddened. His words had not tumbled awkwardly from his lips but had slid from them like butter. Would any human have been so bold, so unwavering in confession? Perhaps, if they were telling a lie.

Grell Sutcliffe found William slumped against the side of a hallway, his eyes red behind glasses, his face drawn.

“What’s your problem?” Grell asked, not unkindly, “are you always so dramatic? I wouldn’t have yelled at you if I had known you would bawl like a baby in the hallway.”

When William didn’t answer, Grell took the liberty to sit beside him on the cold floor, scowling as dirt accumulated on his clothing. He took one piece of long, red hair and twirled it between his manicured fingers.

“Beautiful men are the worst.” He said, his voice unusually sober, “the most attractive of them are always the most vile. I want to kill every last one of them.” He said it venomously. He wasn’t joking.

William looked at him then, “how did you know?”

“I’m perceptive.”

Neither of them said anything after that. They sat in the cold stone hallway, millions of miles away from their previous lives. They were two people brought together by tragedy, and the infant bonds between them would never, in their thousand years of existence, be broken.


	2. The Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William meets Sebastian Michaelis for the first time. And then again.

The human world was bleaker than he had left it all those years ago. The buildings loomed higher while clouds of pollution sank, squeezing the people of London to the earth. Ash rained from the sky. It seasoned foods and decorated houses. The wind wailed through the trees. A cold moon, framed by towers, hung high in the sky, bleeding its frosty glow into the night.

William waited above the city. He listened. He was acutely aware of how high he was, and how a fall from this height would kill any normal human. It would not kill him. He had checked.

From a distance came a piercing shriek. Immediately William leapt from his post and darted silently in the direction of the sound, weaving through chimneys and sliding down rooftops, the slick shingles irritating his spine. His breath came in sharp bursts. Within seconds he’d found his target: Grell Sutcliff. The man was lying on the ground in the middle of an alley, his face beaten bloody, another standing above him. The other man held Grell’s sacred chainsaw. He wore a suit and a ravenous smile, and he inched the spinning blade towards Grell’s prone form. Instinctually, William aimed his scythe and sent it flying downward, clashing with the chainsaw in a fiery bouquet of sparks. Grell’s bruised eyelids turned upward as he beheld his savior, gratitude on his lips. The other man’s eyes slid to William’s.

Through the inky night, those wine-red eyes were unmistakable. The sharp beauty, cutting like a knife, was even harder to miss. Suddenly he was human again, young and foolish and in love, darting into alleyways and hiding in bathrooms to be with Simon. Excited and alive and passionate. Then the feeling retreated and he saw red. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” William said, descending from the rooftop in one graceful motion. His face was a careful mask of disinterest, but behind the curtain a fire roared. He was going to kill this man. This demon was going to pay for what it was. It wasn’t Simon— there were differences in coloring and facial structure— but it was close enough. William would mar the thing’s face until it looked like the monster it was— or until it no longer reminded him of Simon Turner. Then he was going to peel away its skin and eyes and hair and -.

“William,” Grell clasped onto his pants, “calm down.”

“I am calm,” he hissed. The demon laughed. It was a soothing sound. William couldn’t stop imagining what the alley would look like decorated in its blood. Would it be red? Black? He had missed the lecture on demons, but he knew that nothing was immune to his scythe; he could kill it and that was all that mattered. He only hoped it could feel pain. Murder in his eyes, William advanced.

“Sebastian?” Out of the gloom stepped a boy. He was young. Over his head the name ‘Ciel Phantomhive’ hovered in ghostly, swimming letters. Below the name was the number thirteen, and below that was his date of death, ‘undetermined.’ The boy was thin and frail, dressed in a jacket of wool and sorrow, with one cold blue eye that pierced William.

“Who is that?” the boy asked, “Another Shinigami?”

“Yes, my lord,” the demon, Sebastian, said. William glanced between the two. Ciel Phantomhive’s eye bloomed with purple light, a spiky pentagram etched into his iris. William’s eyes darted to the pale skin of Sebastian’s hand, which held the same evil symbol. They were bound. His heart sank in his chest. That boy was bound to a monstrous evil beyond his imagination, and he relied entirely on it for his survival. He couldn’t kill the thing. The boy depended on it. 

“My name is William T Spears of the collections department,” he said. He forced himself to bow, though he felt like his spine might break, “here is my card. I’ve come to collect my companion. I apologize for any of the trouble you and your master endured.”

The demon took his card, but not before it caressed William’s hand with its spidery fingers. Even the moon shivered as their skin brushed. The night threatened to choke William but he managed to straighten his spine and fall back a step, his knuckles white around his scythe. 

“Really,” he muttered, “bowing to a thing like you repulses me.”

“Does it?” Sebastian mused. He closed the gap between them, a predatory grin cutting across his face as he leaned in to whisper in William’s ear, “do you hate me, William?” His soft black hair tickled William’s cheek. He staggered backward, recovering enough to take Grell by the collar and drag him to his feet. Grell complained and William scolded him, casting his gaze anywhere but the demon.

“Goodbye, Ciel Phantomhive,” he said, “please keep an iron grip on your dog.”

He did not look back to see the boy’s smirk. Instead, he dragged Grell by the arm through alley after alley and street after street until they were out of London and in the countryside, surrounded by stars. Even then the red eyes followed him, and the soft voice whispered in his ear. 

“Was that him?” Grell said after a while. They were close to the tear in the galactic fabric— the tear the London reapers used to return to their dimension. Already the weight of gravity grew stronger, their footsteps heavier. 

“No,” William said. He focused on picking his feet up. If he were human, the gravity would’ve crushed him. 

“How do you know?”

William sighed, “The face was different. The hair color too. And other details I can’t quite place. It was a different man.”

Grell shook his head, pity in his yellow-green eyes, “I forgot that you missed the lecture that day. Demons are shape shifters. They can take whatever form they please.”

“You mean-“

“That could’ve been him. It’s unlikely but possible.”

The gravitational pull on his physical body suddenly felt trivial in comparison to the tug on his soul.

“No.” His voice was firm. 

Grell sighed as he approached the tear, placing his velvet-covered hand on the edge of the technicolor wound in the sky.

“Forget I said anything. It’s unlikely, anyhow, so you should forget it,” he grinned, “focus more on how you’re going to tar and feather my ass, eh? I caused quite a bit of damage in the human world-“ His toothy smile widened unapologetically, “-and I know you’ll look forward to punishing me.”

Ordinarily, William would have groaned at the insinuation, but he could not bring himself to speak. 

.

William successfully avoided the demon for a month. He denied any collections linked to the name Phantomhive (there were quite a few) and stayed far away from the Earl’s two properties. His fatal mistake was taking the case at the circus.

Sebastian shouldn’t have been at Noah’s Arc circus. Why would he be? A traveling circus of pathetic orphans connected to a string of child murders— unique but not the concern of an Earl and his pet demon. It would have been flawless logic if Ciel Phantomhive hadn’t been playing as teenage Sherlock Holmes.

William sensed the demon’s dark presence before he saw it. He was balancing atop the highest tightrope in the main tent, just standing there, absorbed in his thoughts. His eyes were closed as he listened to the circus members below, eavesdropping on their whispered conversations and puzzling together what the circus was behind the curtain. Their strained voices and smiled amused him. Were it not for the demon, he could have enjoyed himself amid the colorful tents and jolly tunes and frilly costumes. But life wasn’t fair, and death wasn’t either.

“You fiend,” he hissed when Sebastian arrived. His professionalism was forgotten as his rage took the wheel, “what business does a demon have here?” 

Sebastian smiled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The demon was amused. Its evil eyes could read William’s soul and it knew it had aggravated him. Ciel Phantomhive was the only one who reacted. He gasped and glared daggers at William, his thin hands forming fists.

“Shut up,” Ciel hissed.

The ring leader wasn’t concerned. He assigned William and Sebastian to the same room as a joke, and William was forced to share a bed with his nemesis. Well, share a bunk bed, but regardless it made him sick. The first thing he did upon entering the room was dig his scythe into the sandy ground, carving a line between himself and Sebastian. 

“If you cross this line I’ll kill you,” he said. Sebastian laughed at him and gracefully ascended the bunk bed.

“Alright,” he was looking down at William from the top bunk, his arms folded neatly over the wooden rail. 

It was nighttime and cicadas chirped in the darkness outside the tent. A lantern, placed on the sandy floor, lit the reds and whites of the tarp ceiling in a golden glow. Sebastian’s shiny, coal-black hair reflected the light elegantly, as did his piercing eyes. William had to look away.

“Unlike demons, reapers require sleep. So any disturbances and we’ll have problems. I won’t hesitate to reap you.” 

“You’ve made that very clear,” Sebastian drawled, playing with a strand of silky hair. His gaze did not stray from William. This was a problem, as William needed to change into his nightclothes. Sleeping in a suit would be uncomfortable, but changing in front of Sebastian would be worse. If he were being honest, it was already difficult to keep his thoughts in check. Sebastian reminded him of Simon, and Simon reminded him of other things… He was grateful he had never been one to blush. 

The last thing he wanted to do was strip in front of Sebastian, but he already held his nightclothes in hand and the devil was watching expectantly, waiting for him to show any sight of weakness. Gritting his teeth, William pulled off his suit and trousers, shedding them like a second skin, and quickly redressed himself, careful to keep his face indifferent. Sebastian watched with an amused expression. The devil loved to see him squirm.

“Goodnight,” William said finally. He bent next to the lantern and blew out the flame. Instantly, the tent descended into darkness. It was eerily quiet, as if he were the only one in the tent. The sounds of shallow breath and rustling and sniffing— sounds that he had never noticed— were all missing. He felt completely alone, despite the dark figure in the top bunk. It was frightening.

Creeping to his bed, he pulled the ratty sheets to his chest, feeling like a child.  _ Daddy, there’s a demon under my bed.  _ Except the demon was above his bed. Except it was real. Except, despite all logic, he was hopelessly obsessed with it. In love, a dark part of his mind whispered. No matter how tightly he shut his eyes, the feelings did not disappear.

“Have you had a negative experience with demons, William?” Sebastian asked from the top bunk. His smooth voice was clinical, as though he were William’s psychologist, “You seem to hate us. More than usual, that is.”

“Shut up,” William said, but Sebastian did not shut up.

“Let me guess, one of us drove you to suicide,” Sebastian said, a smile in his voice, “probably as part of a contract. Were you abused? Or did the demon take a different approach? Did he make you trust him with your life before he betrayed you? Did he make you lose everything?”

“Shut up,” William said more forcefully. His entire body shook. He hoped the demon didn’t feel the trembling of the flimsy bunk bed but knew he did. Sebastian knew something. William had suspected it before but now it was almost certain. Was it guesswork, or did Sebastian know about Simon? Could he read his mind? 

The bunk bed groaned as Sebastian swung down from the top bunk, landing gracefully above William so that his hands were planted around William’s head and his legs straddled William’s hips. William’s heart leapt. Sebastian came so close that the tips of his hair were inches away from William’s cheek, their breath mixing. 

William’s limbs were frozen in place. His mind was jelly. Those pretty red eyes pinned him to the mattress, staking him in place. Sebastian’s mouth split into a grin, and pearly white fangs slid past his lips. It was so beautiful and horrible and wrong that William couldn’t move, though his body screamed at him to act. All he could do was stare up in horror. 

And then Sebastian began to change. Even in the dark William could see it. The black pigment of his hair dripped away like ink, a shiny golden color in its place. His cheekbones and jaw shivered and contracted as his face took a different shape. Finally, bright red eyes faded to blue and the change was complete. Above him was Simon, the only man he’d ever loved.

“Hello, William,” Simon said.

“No,” William whispered, “no, please don’t do this to me.”

“Do what?” Simon asked, drawing his body closer to William’s, caressing his cheek, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. The world was spinning like a carousel and he was about to fall off. He gripped the sides of the mattress so hard his hands hurt, as if the bed could help him cling to sanity. Despite Simon’s warmth he felt suddenly, unbearably cold. 

“I hate you,” William whispered, his voice trembling, “I want to kill you. I want to rip your heart out of your chest.”

Simon only laughed as he stroked William’s hair, “Darling, I don’t have a heart.”

Simon’s face began to change again, twitching and shifting until Sebastian Michaelis was grinning down at him. His cold eyes were red, but still they were like Simon’s: sharp and intelligent and cruel. His smile was charming as Simon’s had been. He was just as handsome, just as cuttingly beautiful, but it was a colder, darker sort of handsomeness.

“Get off me,” William said softly. The sound that escaped his lips was that of a wounded animal. Sebastian laughed deep within his throat and leaned closer so that his lips brushed William’s.

“Of course,” he said against his mouth.

And then Sebastian retreated, pulling his face away from William’s and ascending to the top bunk in one graceful motion. It was as if he had never been there. But his ghost remained, hovering over William’s lips and whispering in his ear. William laid in the silence, trembling, staring blankly at the top bunk. He didn’t know who he hated more, Sebastian or himself. He wished again, desperately, that he could die.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't absolute garbage.


	3. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and William speak once more at the circus. William returns to the Shinigami realm and does his research.

When William was seventeen years old he was accepted into Oxford. High marks and close contact with a few of the professors earned him a full scholarship—anything less and he couldn’t have gone.

The letter came on the first Tuesday of August in the summer of 1835. A thick, soupy heat had settled over London. Flies buzzed around piles of waste that sat stagnant in the gutters. William walked home from his summer job at the factory, his grimy hands shielding his face from the burning sun.

The parchment was yellow like buttermilk, the seal red as roses. It sat on his doorstep, propped up on a rotting board like a beautiful lily in a murky pond. His heart sputtered to a halt when he saw it. The world froze—the flies and the sun and the soupy heat—everything holding its breath. He bent down and picked it up with shaking hands. Slowly, he peeled off the wax seal.

The night fell and one by one, William’s mother and two older brothers came home from their workplaces. They shuffled like corpses through the front door, hanging up their hats and jackets and collapsing on rickety wooden chairs. Each one of their faces lit like a struck match when they heard the news. William was the only one who had attended school. His brothers had been working the mines since they were eight. His mother had slaved in a factory since she was six. None of them could read, but still they poured over the letter, sounding out each inky syllable.

College was difficult. William would come home, his torn satchel full of thick books, and study until the sun sank. The family’s supply of candles dwindled as he bled every drop of wax. Pressure hardened him like a stone crystallized beneath the earth. He would lay awake in bed, a ratty blanket pulled to his chest, and scream into his hands. On the night before an exam, he never slept. He simply let the information dance around his head until it threatened to disappear, and he would shiver despite the warmth. The walls and furniture and window panes turned into monsters in the dark. Failure loomed in the distance—a large stone golem that grew closer by the minute. It was so easy to lose everything.

And he had. Lost everything, that is. As he lay in the squeaky circus bed his body was wracked with tremors as it had been all those years ago. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t think. He was drowning in the terror and hatred and helplessness, victim to the merciless tide of thoughts.

His family was long dead now. When he was employed, they had moved into a nicer home on the outskirts of London—nothing grand, but a far stretch from their crumbling inner-city house. His mother was able to quit her job at the factory. His brothers worked shorter hours. They smiled and laughed and joked for the first time in their lives. And then William lost his job. And then he killed himself, and his family was forced out of their house and back into their jobs. His eldest brother died of cholera before his twenty first birthday. His mother died in the factory, her neck snapped by the roaring machinery. His other brother died of starvation.

He had lost everything. They had all lost everything. It had been taken from them by the demon lying above him—the thing that wasn’t sleeping because it did not sleep. The thing that he could not bring himself to hate.

When the first rays of sun hit the skin of their tent, William’s heart was hardened. He was not a pushover. He was not a human either.

He avoided Sebastian the next day. It was easy to lose himself in the clatter of plates and the smell of fresh eggs at breakfast. A gentle buzz of voices filled the dining tent as members chatted eagerly about the upcoming show. Warm sunlight tickled his skin and the happy chirping of robins filled his ears. 

He made himself scarce until the sun fell, lurking on the perimeter of the campgrounds and investigating far from Sebastian Michaelis. He listened to the whispers in the shadows. He snuck into the members’ tents and picked through their belongings. He scratched observations into his notebook. Slowly, the puzzle pieces fell into place, and the weight on his heart began to dissolve. Soon he would leave this place.

Night fell and the demon grew closer. Sebastian had ignored him ever since the morning, occupied with his duties. Ciel Phantomhive had Sebastian wrapped around his thin finger with admirable authority. But Ciel couldn’t distract his butler forever, and as the boy was whisked away by his roommate, Sebastian’s interest was drawn back to William. Sebastian was a shark and William was stranded helplessly in the ocean. Red eyes followed him everywhere, peering around corners and hiding in crowds.

William led Sebastian to the outskirts of the campground. He waited for the demon underneath a thick oak tree, his face shadowed by the gnarly branches which reached like claws over nearby tents. In the distance, a cheerful calliope played and patrons chattered as they passed under the arch of Noah’s Arc Circus. Children laughed and tugged at their mothers, unbeknownst of the danger that lurked around corners. William was distanced from it all. He waited in the shadows, impartial, his scythe yearning for blood. It was easy to forget he had been human once. Easy to forget, yet so very hard.

“You’re waiting for me,” Sebastian said from the darkness. He lurked fifty meters away from William, directly beneath a golden lantern so he was drenched in shadow. Two familiar pinpricks of light pierced the black, “did you miss me?”

“No,” William said, “I did not.”

“You’re lying,” Sebastian said, stepping out from under the light. His perfect features were lit aglow, bathed in brilliant gold. Then he took another step, and he was back in the shadows.

William ignored him. At least, he pretended to.

“I only wish to warn you. As you must have guessed, I am here to investigate an unusual absence of souls. If I have any reason to believe you are responsible, I’m authorized to kill you. Regardless of your contract.”

Sebastian’s grin vanished. He looked almost offended.

“I do not steal souls,” he said, “That is a practice reserved for the lowest of my kind. A contract is enough to satisfy me. Surely you must know that?”

William, who was woefully ignorant regarding demons, said nothing. He dug his nails into his palms. Luckily, Sebastian did not catch on.

“Besides,” the demon continued, “I have no interest in low-quality goods.”

Ciel chose that moment to arrive. He was dressed in frilly blue circus clothing, and he had a teardrop and star painted on his cheeks. An ever-present scowl darkened his countenance. He yelled first at Sebastian, then at William. It was amusing to watch the small human struggle for authority. He could have laughed.

“Stop saying that word,” Ciel told William, glaring at him.

“What word?”

Ciel rolled his eyes, “Demon. You’ll make the others suspicious.”

Demon. Had he used that word around the humans? He’d forgotten not to. The lines between his life as a human and as a Shinigami blurred, the faces and words and places mixing. It was easy to forget there had been a time when a demon had been nothing more than a foolish superstition – unscientific, theological garbage. An ugly man with horns and a tail. A fantasy of the uneducated and gullible. Those had been simpler times.

“I apologize,” William said unapologetically, “but I will not refer to—that thing—by its pet name.”

“Then I suggest you don’t refer to it at all,” Ciel hissed. He cast one more glare in William’s direction before spinning on his heel and stalking off toward the main tent. William watched him leave; watched his rigid posture and his gate, shortened by the heels he wore to appear taller. If William were prone to sentimentality the sight would have saddened him. Watching Ciel was like watching a mirror. The boy was drowning in a sea of hardships, and he would thrash and kick until finally he was pulled under. He was prideful to a fault. He was terrified.

“I hardly see how he is high-quality,” William said.

Sebastian sneered, “Are you jealous?” His sharp eyes were still speared on Ciel’s retreating back, boring a hole between his shoulder blades. He looked so very much like Simon then. His features were entirely Sebastian’s, but the look in his eyes, his expression… It was unsettling to hear the venom that dripped from his lips. Simon had always been kind to William, even during their rough patches.

William scowled and fixed his gaze on a patch of darkened grass. In the distance the crowd laughed and screamed at a marvelous act. A frosty wind blew, ruffling William’s hair. He resisted the urge to slink away from Sebastian and adjusted his glasses instead.

“You will stay on the campgrounds tonight. If you leave you force my hand— I’ll kill you.”

Sebastian laughed, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” William said with more certainty than he felt. His hatred for Sebastian was a monster that was alive and well— it roared within his chest and demanded retribution. But something was restraining it, and it wasn’t foolish rules. William didn’t care about the rules of the Shinigami world; he only pretended he did to distract himself— to occupy his mind with something other than death. If William truly wanted Sebastian dead there was little standing in his way. A fight, sure, but what is a fight when you don’t value your own life?

Sebastian’s eyes glowed with mirth. They were shockingly red now, glowing in the dark more brightly than before. As unsettling as the eyes were they were also tantalizingly beautiful. It was difficult to look away.

“You would kill a friend, William? How cruel. We’ve known each other for so long.”

A familiar, withering feeling washed over William along with an irrational terror that Sebastian would change himself into Simon again. But he did not. William felt his hand rise and grip his scythe, moved by an invisible string. He thrust the scythe at Sebastian, hand trembling.

Sebastian was like black lightning, darting out of the path of the scythe so that only the pale skin on his cheekbone was cut. Inky blood gathered at the surface— black as night. The dark liquid dripped down his face like midnight tears. Sebastian brought a hand to his face and collected the inky substance on his palm. He looked at it in awe. He looked at William.

“Impressive,” he said. 

Sebastian did not leave the campgrounds that night or any other night. He retreated with his master to their manor of lies early the next morning. William left the circus soon after, all necessary paperwork put neatly in its place. The ringleader died. The lion tamer and tightrope walker and fire breather died, and several others he couldn’t bother to remember. The circus left town, taking its grand tents and cotton candy and pan flute with it. London was restored, now with only the average number of child murders. The balance of the universe was upheld.

William returned to his desk and his universe and did more paperwork. It was difficult, as his hands would not stop trembling. His quill danced disobediently across the page, inky cuts forming across his paper. The ink dripped like blood over the neat lines. Eventually, he put the ink away. 

“You’re more uptight than usual,” Grell Suitclife said from the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, playing with a strand of hair, “I didn’t think it was possible. Surely this must count as an eighth wonder of the world. Even the pyramids were less miraculous.”

William glared, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“That stick is shoved even farther up your ass! This must defy all known laws of physics. I am truly astounded.”

“Leave, Sutcliffe. I’m not interested in whatever this is.”

Grell grinned, “I know he was there. The demon, I mean. That’s what has you so hot and bothered, isn’t it? That man has a profound impact on you. It’s kind of cute.”

William snarled, dropping his quill and rising so quickly that his chair smacked the wall behind him. He stormed over to the doorway and grabbed Grell by the lapels of his overcoat. For once, Grell had the decency to look ruffled.

“He slept in the same bed as me,” William spat, “that disgusting thing was inches away from me all night. Do you know how many showers I’ve taken? I can’t get that slimy, oily feeling off of my skin. If you knew something, why didn’t you tell me?”

Grell laughed weakly, inching out of William’s grasp, “That’s a lot to take in at once, Will. First of all, I love this side of you-“ Grell winked and William glowered, “Secondly, you slept with him? How did that happen?”

William’s face was an instant inferno, “That’s not what I said, you perverted weasel.”

Grell grinned, “What else is ‘we shared a bed’ supposed to mean?”

He said it rather loudly, and from the hallway came the peering eyes of several Shinigami. Grell noticed them and hissed in their direction, sending them scattering like ants.

“It was a bunk bed,” William hissed under his breath, “a bloody bunk bed. We were forced to room together by the idiot ringleader.”

Grell laughed, “This is brilliant! I don’t know why you’re so peeved. He’s rather dashing.”

William’s lip curled, “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“You know,” Grell continued, “I don’t truly understand your hatred for Sebastian. He is a demon, yes, but he can’t change that. And he’s not the same demon that seduced you all those years ago. I mean-“ he stopped after looking at William. 

A heavy silence hit them.

“The same one?” Grell whispered, suddenly somber. He had an exceptional talent for analyzing countenances. Something akin to sympathy sputtered in his eyes, but the spark quickly died. Emotions did not last long among Shinigami. They were worn down, their emotions a constant, dull pain at the base of their skulls. 

“Leave,” William said calmly, “please.”

“I didn’t know that Sebastian was there until recently,” Grell said as a parting, already slipping out the door, “I found out the day you returned.”

He left in a rosy flourish, shutting the door and leaving William alone with his thoughts. William stood rooted to the spot, his clenched fists whitening. He kicked the door. Then he kicked a trash can across the room, overturned a chair, and punched a hole through the wall. His rage died and he was left in his unruly room, contemplating how expensive it was to fix a wall. 

* * *

The shinigami library was massive. It was larger than the London, New York, and Westshire libraries combined. If you stood on one end you couldn’t hear nor see someone on the other. The building was so large some swore it had its own fog. Its own wind. Its own climate. The cure for cancer was somewhere, lost in the infinite pages. There were ten trillion digits of pi stored in the math section, and twice that of Euler’s number. The books of today and tomorrow and yesterday weighed down the rows of shelves. 

William walked a mile into the library and took a seat in a grotto beneath several large, Tudor windows. It was quiet as death. Cold light descended from the overcast sky and illuminated the rows of shelves.

William took several hefty, leather tomes off the shelves, blowing the dust off their gilded titles. Demonology. Most of the books were in Latin or French, written centuries ago. One of the authors caught his eye: Sébastien Michaelis, a Frenchman. William let a sharp laugh slip past his lips. Simon, no, Sebastian had always been funny. Not in the blatant, warm way that comedians were, but in a sarcastic, sly manner. He used to whisper savage commentary into William’s ear: “do you think he’s ever seen his feet over that stomach?” or, “I reckon even her twenty cats think she’s pathetic.” But it wasn’t all cruel nothings. There were witty jokes too— downright intelligent remarks that baffled William in their cleverness. Those quips had been one of his favorite parts about Sebastian- no, Simon. Whoever he was. The secret words brought them closer together, the whispers untarnished by those around them. 

William sighed and opened a book. It smelled old. The pages were thin and the print was minuscule— even with his glasses he needed to squint. The text was difficult to comprehend, yet he trudged valiantly forward, traversing the jungle of sentences. His discipline was unmatched (this was why he was often dubbed a workaholic), and so he studied the texts for hours on end. The cold sun fell and the enormous moon rose in the glittering night sky. Shadow descended upon the library, kept a bay only by the small flicker of candlelight. 

Sunrise painted the horizon purple and gold when William finally found his answer. A way to kill Sebastian. An Achilles heel shared by all demons. It was too easy, so easy that William could fathom himself doing it. It would require precision and sacrifice, yet Sebastian could be killed without an extensive battle. It would not require an impossible feat. It could be done.

William should have felt relief, but instead he felt a choking sense of dread. An evil hand was wound around his heart, squeezing the life out of his soul. The past flashed before his eyes: the beauty and light and love of being human and being alive— the sunlit streets and grassy knolls and glimmering smiles. He slammed the book shut and began to cry. Deep, silent sobs racked his chest and he pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress them, terrified of being heard despite the vacant library that stretched on for miles. He cried harder than he ever had for a minute, physically straining against his hand and biting into the skin of his palm and rocking back and forth like a child. A minute passed and he quieted himself by digging his nails into the flesh of his arms.

He stood up. He put the book away. He pushed in his chair and left the library and went to bed.

Soon it would be over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I was a bit lost writing the first part of this chapter. After writing about half of it, however, I came up with essentially the rest of the plot. I'm actually really excited. This may be the first time I finish a fanfiction that's longer than one chapter. I'm serious, every time I start a fanfiction I end up dumping it after a few chapters (eight chapters was my longest), but this one has the potential to be completed. I think I will write 2-3 more chapters after this one.

**Author's Note:**

> I take any feedback, positive or negative, so don't be afraid to share your thoughts. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.


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